


Sherlock or the World

by Roughnight



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Reichenbach Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-11
Updated: 2013-05-11
Packaged: 2017-12-11 13:45:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/799402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roughnight/pseuds/Roughnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>.</p><p>The world could fall into pieces, could go into apocalypse, and John Watson would’ve been happy sipping his cuppa if he had Sherlock breathing in the same room with him. Sherlock or the World. It was hardly a choice.</p><p>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlock or the World

**Author's Note:**

> LINK to the I'M YOURS Johnlock fanvid that inspired this one shot:
> 
>   
> **  
> [IM YOURS](http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=endscreen&NR=1&v=y01bS-EMyP8)  
> **  
> 

 

  

~*~

  

 

_//Sherlock. My best friend. **Sherlock**. Is Dead//_

 

 

 

It was when he said it aloud, with a hollow, broken voice that didn’t belong to him, in a room he has apparently occupied with the woman Ella, that he truly _realized. Sherlock and the word dead_. There was finality when they were breathed and he wanted very much, _so very badly_ to take the words back and never to speak of them again. There was a terrible mistake at that. It was an abomination. He thought the world grumbled vehemently in retaliation except that when he looked outside the window, the place was ridiculously fine. _Disgustingly so._  It wasn’t burning, or crumbling or smoking or being engulfed by huge tides of water. John thought there was definitely something wrong with that. Sherlock was… _gone_ and the world had no right to go on, no right to continue on its boring course as it has done before.  Why couldn’t it feel the loss? If the sun burst and exploded and disappeared, would the world be able to persist on its axis as if it wasn’t interrupted? As if there hasn’t been a permanent interruption? He ought to be doing something. He ought to be out there with Sherlock. He ought to be chasing criminals with him and not sitting in this utterly boring room with Ella his therapist. It was all wrong. _Wrong! Wrong! Wrong!_

 

 

 

_// **You need to get it out./** /_

 

 

 

He fancied that had Ella coaxed him with the same sentence much, much, earlier at a different day, he would’ve told her that he loved Sherlock Holmes.

 

He would tell her he loved Sherlock Holmes every single bloody day.

 

 

 

_// **Are you ready?”** //_

 

 

 

John has _always_ been ready for Sherlock. It might’ve started with the gazillions of chases they’ve enjoyed—with their exhilarating adventures, dangerous stakeouts and heart tipping brushes with dangers... Or it might have started with the quiet lull of the in-betweens—during the silent sips of their tea, during the painting of music by Sherlock’s violin, during the quiet evenings they spent sitting together in the relative haven of 221 B or during the genuine, heartfelt gigglings they shared together... Or it might have blossomed purely, spontaneously but most viscerally because of Sherlock alone. God knows Sherlock commandeered everything of John and while the doctor does not believe in love at first sight, he was fairly certain that Sherlock defiled all odds. He was the exception of rules. The exception of all exceptions the human mind could conceive. If John didn’t fall in love with Sherlock at first sight, there was little doubt he would have fallen in love at a second glance or a third. It didn’t matter though. He had everyday’s chance to fall in love with the magnificent detective and didn’t it make him the luckiest bastard of all? He had Sherlock with him than most people could account for and didn’t he preen in exultation with that? It was glorious. The world could fall into pieces, could go into apocalypse, and John Watson would’ve been happy sipping his cuppa if he had Sherlock breathing in the same room with him. _Sherlock or the World_. It was hardly a choice.

 

 

 

_// **Are you jealous?** // // **We’re not a couple.** //_

 

 

 

He had been lulled by the comfort of it all, had been particularly, ignorantly and superbly _lax_. He wished Sherlock was with him so the Consulting Detective could berate him and verbally abuse him for being an idiot. At this point, he’d have accepted anything from Sherlock. He had been lax. It was so infuriating he could not even feel as his nails raked at his neck and drew blood. So damn _lax_. He had everyday after all. _Or so he thought_. He wondered how he didn’t realize his love for what it was until Sherlock stood atop St Barts. It was horrifyingly slow and stupid and… _just so stupid_ of him. He supposed he had been blinded by the rush of adrenaline at his veins almost every day, supposed it was all because of the glorious, gravity defying chases that blindsided him, supposed because he had always considered Sherlock out of his reach deep inside, supposed he got contented enough to just receive what Sherlock could offer, supposed he thought he couldn’t be any happier, supposed he had been a coward and couldn’t man up to his feelings…

 

But it was stupid. He was stupid.

 

 

 

 

_// **There is nothing wrong with me!** //_

 

 

 

John didn’t know where it came from. He never thought Sherlock needed fixing. Granted, the man could be annoying and stubborn and spectacularly stupid…but everything that was and could be said only made Sherlock…Sherlock! It was John who has needed fixing. Sherlock fixed him and grounded him and made him whole. Sherlock was all the right in the world.

 

 

 

_// **Keep your eyes fixed on me.** //_

 

 

 

It was when Sherlock Holmes had told John to keep his eyes fixed on the Consulting Detective that he fully _understood_. _Comprehended. Accepted_. It was like the pieces of the puzzle of most importance slotting into their perfect places and the whole world making sense as it never did before. And Sherlock was being absurd. He has always had John’s eyes from the very beginning. There was no way in hell that John was going to take his sight away from the younger Holmes anytime soon for even a passing second. He wasn’t going to set his eyes off Sherlock forever. There was no need for Sherlock to stand at St Bart’s rooftop just so he could ask this of John. _Sherlock, step back and come stand beside me safely_.  Sherlock ought to have skipped that part, ought not to stand up there at the rooftop when the wind was so precariously and dreadfully strong. Sherlock ought to pull his senses together and be with John so John could’ve had the opportunity to tell Sherlock that he wasn’t going to leave the man much less take his eyes away from him. He would tell so every single bloody day. John would’ve gladly removed his own eye balls from their sockets with his bare hands, put them in a jar lovingly, blindly crawl the flight of stairs to the rooftop so he could give Sherlock his eyes as presents. Hadn’t Sherlock already realized that?

 

 

Just…

 

 

 

_// **Don’t be dead.** //_

 

 

 

 

It was a plea. It was a cry. It was a testament. It was a howl. It was an exchange. God how he hoped he could do the exchange. If there was truly a God, surely there was a Devil somewhere. He could give his soul, give his life. There is nothing in this world he would not sell just so the existence of the most amazing, most brilliant, most human, most everything…could once again walk the Earth. Sherlock had no right to die and the world had no right to rid itself of the _only_ Consulting Detective to have ever graced the planet.

 

It was there, as John touches the tombstone, that he knew the world hadn’t lost a single life the moment that Sherlock’s flesh had kissed the ground. Because Sherlock has taken John’s too. John didn’t recognize the man he saw reflected on the tombstone anymore. It was a phantom. A ghost.  There were so many things he regretted, so many _ifs_ and _what might have beens_ left unanswered and were now of no use and purpose but to taunt at him mercilessly like licking serpents. Except that it wouldn’t hurt him anymore. Not when he’s already dead. But he could at least give one thing to Sherlock. A salute to the greatest man he and the universe has come to know was most fitting even when everything else were wrong and so terribly out of sorts. Everything was wrong and it could never be righted anymore.

 

 

_// **Goodbye John.** //_

 

 

 

Sherlock or the World. It was hardly a choice.

 

 

_// **Don’t be dead.** //_

 

 

 

 

 

He wouldn’t have exchanged Sherlock for the world.

 

 

_// **Do it for me. Just stop it.** //_

 

 

 

Stop this.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m typing a killer!Sherlock x John AU fic when out of the blue, a most intense and overwhelming sadness engulfed and incapacitated me. Really just wanted to curl on a corner and cry and think about John and Sherlock. Now that I’m better, I reckon that this said attack could have been brought by the fact that Season 3 is up and that there’s so much of Beni on the news lately it drives my brain mad. Then I chanced upon a fanvid with the same title and it just sent me further into the world of depression. Then it inspired me and I feared this could be my only cure; Hence to say that the fic has just been written and posted without beta and editing.
> 
> LINK to the I'M YOURS Johnlock fanvid:
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>   
> **  
> [IM YOURS](http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=endscreen&NR=1&v=y01bS-EMyP8)  
> **  
> 


End file.
